A Brother Like You
by MidniteDancer
Summary: Some how  England's fault  America finds himself transported to a time and place he's wholly unfamiliar with. But there's one face he's always happy to see, though it may be a bit smaller than he remembered it being. T for language. Scotland bashing


_The fuck?_

America gazed around his new surroundings in wonder. These looked like some of the woods he has in the east, especially back when he was younger, but they seemed… older. Much older. And… almost… mys- _No, America, don't go there. England's rubbing off on you._

The trees were tall and moss covered. It was misty and damp, the sky grey and overcast. The ground was littered with soggy organic debris, almost as if it rained here frequently. If he wasn't _positive_ he was in a sunny New York not thirty seconds ago he would have said that it almost reminded him of the weather around London.

He took a breath, "HELLOOOOO!" What birds were singing went quiet under the sound of the yell. The woods fell silent save for some water still falling from the leaves. There was no answer. He pulled out his cell phone with a huff to be greeted with the message "No Signal". He gritted his teeth and stuffed the device back into his pocket before beginning his walk. There had to be someone around here right?

The brightish spot in the sky, the only indication of the sun, had moved about two feet to America's perspective since he's began moving and he has yet to see hide or hair of anything other than some kind of deer and rabbits. Over the course of his walk he noticed something else. Whenever a country entered the boarders of another both were instantly knowledgeable of the other's presence. He'd noticed that here there was none. This realisation made him pause. It was absolutely ridiculous. He may be an idiot but he wasn't stupid. Every inch of the Earth was either claimed by a nation, private property, or international oceans. There were maps and global images of the Earth itself, there could really be nothing missed! … Could there?

It was only when he stopped and really concentrated could he feel a slight presence, a very young and small one, even less so that that of Sealand. And yet it was familiar all the same. Never has he felt anything like it.

If he was moving he wouldn't have heard it. Slight, but deliberate rustling, like that of something moving slowly. He turned towards the general direction of the noise. The sense of presence spiked slightly. America's gaze dropped to the base of two trees, one straight and the other leaning heavily towards its neighbour. In the triangle of space between them he saw a pair of green eyes.

It was a young boy. He couldn't have been older than… well, than he was when he first met England and France. Yet the boy had a rough, handmade bow aiming an arrow straight at him. America froze. The boy had been nearly invisible in the undergrowth in what looked to be a sage green cloak. He was dirty and wild, but intelligent enough to know how to hide from a nation.

Wait. America focused more.

The slight presence was coming from the boy. America blinked a few times before slowly lowering himself into a crouch, "Hello." The boy didn't move, only continued to scrutinise him. "Who are you?" Still nothing. He took a baby step closer and the boy shrank the tiniest bit. "Do you speak English?"

At the word 'English' something seemed to connect with the boy. He blinked as if surprised but said nothing. America thought for a moment before digging in his jacket pocket. He pulled out a brown bag in which was a scone England had made for him earlier, before he started drinking. _It may not taste too good but it may draw him out_. America showed the boy the slightly burnt pastry. The boy seemed interested and lowered the bow slightly. America took a small bite out of it, chewing deliberately before swallowing to show it was food.

With a slowness almost painful for the American, the boy inched from his hiding spot, still looking at the food but never forgetting about the strange man in the woods. When he was close enough, America broke off a small piece and stretched out his arm to offer it to the child. The boy, whose bow was now over his shoulder, grabbed it and sniffed it before stuffing it into his mouth.

It was as if he'd seen the face of God.

Green emerald eyes went wide with wonder and gazed at the very surprised American as he chewed. When he finished he held out both his hands for more. America laughed causing the boy to jump back. He quickly stifled the laughter before breaking off another piece. "I've never seen anyone like this stuff as much as you," he said as the boy munched on another piece, never taking his eyes off him.

Upon closer inspection, the boy looked a lot like England. Under the hood of the cloak was a mess of shaggy blond hair, the bangs of which slightly touched the already growing eyebrows. Even the stern facial expressions were uncannily like the older nation's. America puzzled over this as he gave the boy another piece of the evidently delicious scone.

But the boy dropped it before scurrying back behind the trees. "Hey, what's up?" Then a voice sounded behind him. The accent was distinctly Scottish but the words seemed garbled. Like they could have been English if they hadn't been so mashed. America stood and turned.

Behind him, not four yards away, was another boy, this one in his teens and much more familiar. Red hair blazed against the greenery and his own green eyes glared at the American. Said blonde blinked in surprised and backed up a step. Scotland was said to be even older than England so how…?

He didn't have time to ponder the question. Scotland had said something else, a threat from the tone, before drawing a rough knife from his tunic and beginning to advance upon the American. America began to run off before he realised that the Scot wasn't chasing him.

The little England had come from his hiding place to grip his older brother's trouser leg, redirecting his attention. Then he too spoke in the jumbled, but oddly very pleasant, English. What America had now determined to be Old English. England used to curse like that when America was little.

As he spoke to his brother he smiled. It was one of the saddest smiles America had ever seen. It was huge and adoring but there were tears in his eyes that betrayed fear and past neglect. Scotland scowled at the display and swiped at the boy with his knife. A red gash appeared on little England's shoulder.

America didn't even think. He ran over, grabbed the small boy, and thrust the larger back with enough force to send him sprawling several yards. Little England cried out and tried to go to his brother but America held him back.

Scotland eventually stood up and charged back at the two, knife aimed for mortality. America twisted his arm away before kicking his feet from under him. Scotland's head hit a tree and he was knocked out.

_Fucking bastard deserved it_. _I knew there's a reason I didn't like him._ He was turning to the smaller nation (nation?) who was again hiding in the trees. America pointed to him and then patted his own shoulder, indicating that he'd help fix England's. The child put his own hand on his shoulder but pulled away to see the red painting it. America gently waved the boy out and slowly began to move to the stream he'd seen earlier that day. The boy was still hesitant to move. America furrowed his eyebrows in thought.

Then he remembered. There was a song that England used to sing to him when he was younger. He said it always made him feel safe. It was in English but not the modern kind of English so he never bothered to learn the words. Old… Auld Long something. Any way, he didn't know the words but he did remember the melody very well.

America started to hum. When he started he noticed the boy perked up and seemed to listen. He slowly walked away to the stream, still humming. Little England hesitated only a moment longer before creeping after him.

America had managed to coax the child down to the edge of the water and to slip the cloak off so he could clean the cut. Fortunately it wasn't that deep. He continued to hum, looping when necessary, and the boy allowed him to administer the bandage of a strip of the American's shirt. He didn't mind giving it up.

When he'd finished tying it America absentmindedly plucked some sticks and leaves out of the unruly hair, smiling slightly. Then, slowly as to not frighten the child, he pulled him into a hug. Little England seemed surprised at first but eventually hugged back. When he pulled back the boy said something to him. He said it with a smile that was contagious. America shook his head to show he didn't understand. Little England said it slower, looking somewhat amused. America listened attentively and repeated what the boy said. When he received a nod of approval he said it over to himself a couple times so as not to forget it.

Suddenly the boy looked up to something that seemed to be hovering over America's right shoulder. America looked but saw nothing and turned his attention back to the child. His green eyes grew wide before nodding his head. Then he turned back to America, smiled again, and backed away as to give him some room. America was confused until a glow seemed to surround him. A horribly familiar glow that got him here in the first place. He looked back at little England once more, smiled, and waved.

Next instant he found himself back at his house with a very pale but normally aged England. "Shit! Damn it America, I'm sorry about that! I didn't—ah…" America watched as he too conversed with the air. His eyebrows knitted in confusion before turning back to the American.

America stood up and smiled broadly, "Hey. You'll never guess what happened."

"The faeries weren't very specific…" Before he knew it he was being pulled into a hug of epic proportions. "Bloody hell America! Put me down!"

When he finally did so he looked straight at England in a seriousness that seemed to put the older nation off. "Iggy, do you still speak that Old English stuff?"

"Yes…"

"So you could translate something for me?"

"What?" America carefully repeated what he learned from the boy. England's eyebrows shot up, "Where did you learn that?"

"So what does it mean?"

"It-It means 'I hope someday I'll have a brother like you.'" There was a slight quiet where neither of them spoke before America pulled him into another back cracking hug.

* * *

><p>Merry Christmas! XD<br>Yeah, it's a little late, but I don't care.

I was bored the other day and I wrote this and I thought it was pretty good. It got the seal of approval from my sister, who doesn't like any of my shit.

Mature for language, but meh

Inspired by http:/ www. zerochan. net/ 890154


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